Touchable and Untouchable

Leaving California was effortless. Terri and I talked about last week’s travels to the redwoods and the beach, missed our planned stop for coffee and gasoline more than once, and were in Nevada all at once. Later in the day the weather shifted, becoming mysterious, fickle, gusty and strangely colored, obscuring the sun which seemed to stand in place. Looking out over the plains on either side of highway I 80, the scene was ethereal, a landscape softened by haze or smoke, all neutral shades, blending land and sky and plants and road into something untouchable.

This morning we swept through further vast expanses, again softened, made inscrutable. Rain fell about us, as it had yesterday, disappearing immediately into the desert floor. Outside the grocery store, the man in the fluorescent vest with many pens spoke of religion and predictions, mistakes in the retelling, and confessed that he wanted to shake my hand. How else could we encounter each other? His hand was hot and damp, gently held between both of mine for just a moment.